Flannel Vs. Fleece

Day 35: I would be willing to bet that almost anyone in my readership knows the difference between flannel and fleece. However, Joann Fabrics' search engine apparently does not, because when I requested "fleece," flannel was mixed in with it. I will accept some responsibility here because I did not read carefully. After all, both words begin with "fl-" and my cursory glance did not catch the difference because I had asked specifically for "fleece" and expected that's what I'd see. Consequently, when my order arrived, I thought there had been a mistake, so I checked the receipt. Damn. Yep, I'd ordered the flannel. I sent Joann a note, hoping that they might allow me to return the fabric. I explained that the search engine was at least partly to blame, and suggested that they fine-tune it to actually give the results the customer requested. Joann's response? "What a wonderful idea! We'll pass that along to management." And that was it, no "Here's a return authorization" or even an apology.

Does it occur to anyone else that technology has failed miserably at making our lives easier and more convenient? Search engines bring up flower arranging when you've asked to see cat food. Customer service has been depersonalized with AI, giving the customer no chance to explain extenuating circumstances. Web pages show only a few products at a time, so we waste precious hours advancing to the next screen and having to backtrack to the products we might want to compare. Paging through a paper catalog was so much easier: just dog-ear the pages and flip back to them. Technology has added annoyances to our growing list of gripes instead of helping us get through our days with some semblance of ease. Now as to what I'm going to do with two yards of flANNEL I didn't want, I don't really know. However, my re-order of the flEECE will become another blanket, one I hope Merry will share with me.

Hills And Valleys

Day 148: For decades before the government ceased scrambling signals and made GPS technology available to the general public, I navigated the deep backcountry with a map and compass. I was often miles from the nearest trail, but I was never afraid of getting lost, even though as a general rule I hiked alone (i.e., at least 95% of the time). If there was a particular feature or landmark I wanted to visit, I would chart a route, noting the bearings from Point A to Point B to Point C on my map. Apart from the occasional 40' cliff lurking between 20' contour lines, it was a good system. And then came GPS. Well, if you've ever had your batteries go flat in that little hand-held unit when you were five miles in, you probably felt pretty helpless unless like me, you had that paper map and good old Suunto mirrored compass in your pack. Nowadays, high-resolution paper topographic maps have gone the way of the dinosaurs, but fortunately I have any I might need within my local range. This isn't one of them. This, dear readers, is an overlay on a rhubarb leaf. Gotcha!

Stepping Out

Day 112: I'd already ordered a standard pedometer before I purchased the iPod Nano and then was pleased to find that the iPod had a mileage tracker built in. Of course when I'm hiking, I don't want an iPod singing in my ear and keeping me from hearing the sounds of Nature, but Aussie folk music and sea shanties keep foot-pounding pavement miles from being boring. Anyway, the step-counting pedometer arrived yesterday and I got it all set up except for calibrating my pace. Got the battery installed, the time set, my weight entered, and most importantly (to this story anyway), I attached the belt leash, a little security strap like you'd attach to a pocket camera. Then I left the pedometer on my desk and went to bed. When I got up this morning, it had counted five steps...not unreasonable, because it was in the middle of the living room floor. The temptation of the strap was too much, and now I wonder...should I calibrate it to Skunk's pace?

Never Easy

Day 105: It's never easy, the combination of Crow and tech. After spending half an hour figuring out how to transfer songs to my new iPod, I couldn't get them to play. The on-line manual was unreadable, printed so small that it couldn't be seen, and if you zoomed in, the letters fragmented. The cute little leaflet in the box was exceptionally uninformative: "this is your home key...here's where the headphones go...plug the lightning connector in here." Thank you, I'd rather not plug anything into a connection with lightning! Apple's parts names are as skewed as their color perception. This iPod is "yellow." I poked all the screen icons and failed to find anything adjustable, and it was only by accident that my fingers encountered the tiny ridges on the toggleable volume control.

Okay, that hurdle crossed, let's see if we can organize music into playlists. Another hour of wasted time later, I popped a note off to Kevin and asked him to stop by on his way home from work. He's good with this sort of thing. Yep, there was a button I'd missed. He showed me how to set up playlists and I did so gleefully. Then I synchronized the device. The playlists failed to transfer.

Going out for my second walk of the day, I discovered I'd accidentally loaded fifty or so Christmas songs onto the device. It's a little jarring to hear "Good King Wenceslaus" in between "Click Go the Shears" and "The Man from Snowy River," likewise "O Holy Night" doesn't quite fit with "Haul Away for Rosie." Yeah, there's work to be done here. I just wish somebody would print...PRINT, I say!...a set of clear instructions for us old fogeys who don't find technology intuitive.